I shot a frown her way, setting my bread on top like I had hers. “Yes, I do.”
She started to shake her head, but I set my bowl on the counter, braced my hands on the edge, and said, “Iwantto feed you. Let me take care of you.”
She stared up at me, and I stared right back. If she wanted to battle, I’d battle, but I wasn’t giving in. The least I could do for her, especially after her father passed, was make her food.
As if the invisible string holding us in place had snapped, we both blinked, looking away. I crossed to the fridge, grabbing two bottles of water and a Dr. Pepper. Closing the door, I walked back to my spot on the opposite side of the counter from Parker and set the water in front of her. Then, I cracked the top on the soda and placed it beside her bottle.
“I wasn’t sure if you still liked them. It’s not from the gas station”—my hand came up to rub at the back of my neck—“but I figured a can could make up for it until you can get one.”
She zoned in on the soda, blinking like memories were flashing behind her eyes. They sure as hell were behind mine.
Growing up, after school, we’d stop at the corner gas station on the way home every day. She’d always grab a fresh Dr. Pepper from the machine, and I’d either go for an energy drink or a water.
“You remember the slushy machine they installed my sophomore year?” she asked, causing my bewildered gaze to snap to hers. I’d expected her to stay silent anddig into her meal, not bring up the past. I wasn’t sure if there was any unsaid rule between us that said we shouldn’t bring up old memories, so I didn’t necessarily want to be the first to go down that lane.
“Yeah.” I chuckled. “It broke two days later. You got to try one Dr. Pepper slushy. The first time, you were too scared to interrupt your routine to try it. I finally talked you into it the next day.”
“More like you bullied me into it,” she corrected, a smile lighting up her eyes. “You and Reed were so mean about it, I had no choice but to fill my cup with that watered-down soda concoction.”
I arched a brow. “If I remember correctly, you ended up liking it.”
“Until the machine broke!” She let out a small laugh, and it hit me how much I missed her smile. “Then I had to force this narrative into my head that it was disgusting so I wouldn’t miss it.”
I shook my head, incredulous. “That’s a little insane, Park.”
Her mouth popped open, the corners still tilted up. “It was good!” She glanced at my water, condensation already building on the plastic. “I’m surprised you didn’t grab a beer. You were drinking them with dinner since before I can remember.”
My shoulders stiffened at the reminder, my tongue darting over my lips before I dropped my smile and picked up my fork. “I’m a changed man.”
Despite my focus dropping to the pasta, I could feel her studying me. I used to always be able to feel her eyeson me, and it seemed that never changed. Guess old habits did die hard.
“Who’s this new Beck?” she questioned, almost more so to herself.
But I answered anyway. “I don’t drink anymore.”
The air in the room shifted, turning from playful to serious in mere seconds.
She picked up her own utensil, twirling it in the noodles. “There a reason for that?”
“Sort of,” I offered, unsure how to put into words that I went on a bender I couldn’t even remember the duration of because at the time, I’d have rather lost myself in a bottle than face the reality of my best friend being gone.
“Want to share?” Her fork was growing more full of pasta with each spin, a bite far too large for her to take, but she didn’t seem to be paying attention to the food. Like I was the only thing she wanted to focus on.
I both loved and hated it, because if I got used to her being here, being real and right in front of me, I’d never want her to leave. Hell, I feared that was the case the moment I saw her at the funeral.
“Not really.”
A simple nod, and she was scraping the pasta along the side of the bowl so it fell off her fork. Then she twirled a single noodle onto it and stared like it was the most interesting piece of food she’d ever seen.
I’d deflated her. Killed the mood. I seemed to be real fucking good at that lately.
“Park, it’s not that I’m keeping anything from you?—”
“You have no obligation to tell me anything. We’re…”
Her words trailed off, but I knew what she was trying to say. The one thing that stood between us like a house fire, but neither of us had the heart to acknowledge. We’d both rather it burn us down in the process simply to avoid putting it into words.
“Not what we used to be,” I filled in.
